


we're on fire (or at least, we're REALLY FUCKING HOT.)

by ybcpatrick



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Mania Era, Other, Patrick has had enough, Pete has a romantic name for each dude lol, Popsicles, Summer Heat, andy is hon, california is HOT, joe is baby, just read it I think it's kinda cute, patrick is babe, poly!fob, shirtless bois, suffering™, this is weird sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 00:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11955462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ybcpatrick/pseuds/ybcpatrick
Summary: To the surprise of literally nobody, summer in California is hot.Like,hot.Like, makes you want to curl up and die because you're melting in the living room and the popsicles aren't cooling you down on the inside at all, even though your mom used to tell you they would when you were a kid, but now you're thirty three and realizing it was just a way to get you to stop whining about how hot you were,HOT.





	we're on fire (or at least, we're REALLY FUCKING HOT.)

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS WEIRD AF SORRYYYYYYY BOUT IT
> 
> enjoy this odd fic about Patrick's boyfriends not wearing shirts
> 
> I think I've hit rock bottom
> 
> bye lmfao

To the surprise of literally nobody, summer in California is hot.

Like, _hot_.

Like, makes you want to curl up and die because you're melting in the living room and the popsicles aren't cooling you down on the inside at all, even though your mom used to tell you they would when you were a kid, but now you're thirty three and realizing it was just a way to get you to stop whining about how hot you were, **_HOT_**.

Patrick sat miserably on the couch, fanning himself with an old copy of Alternative Press. He sulked, watching the ceiling fan as it served no purpose but to circulate the muggy air. The air conditioner was broken (of course), and it just happened to be the hottest fucking day of the summer. They had run out of popsicles earlier, so Andy was tasked with a grocery run. But, the half hour it would take for Andy to amass their necessary ammunition of cold treats until Tuesday when the AC guy could come felt like absolute hell.

It was quite safe to say Patrick hated his fucking life.

“Oh my god.” Pete groaned, staggering into the room with a tiny M&M’s candy fan in his hand. His arms and chest were shining with sweat, and he threw his shirt aimlessly into the corner of the room, flopping down beside Patrick on the couch. Patrick wrinkled his nose up in disgust.

“Gross, you're soaked.” Patrick grumbled, scooting further away from him. Pete whined, looking to nuzzle his nose into his neck, but the singer only held him back with a hand. Pete frowned, crossing his arms.

“Not like you're any better.” Pete snarked back, tugging at the hem of Patrick’s tee. “Why not take this off? You'll feel a little better.”

“I am not taking my shirt off.” Patrick said, yanking his shirt out of Pete’s grasp. “Do you see how big our fucking windows are? I'm not about to blind the neighbourhood with my pale ass skin, Pete.”

“I think you're just depriving them of such beautiful alabaster skin, babe.” Pete sniffed, indignant. Patrick snorted, switching fanning hands so some of the pitiful breeze would hit Pete.

“No, I'm saving passing drivers. Besides, I personally think you're just trying to get in my pants. And it is _far_ too hot to do so.”

“Fuckin’ fine.” Pete groused, crossing his arms once again and sulking. Patrick rolled his eyes at the petulance on his boyfriend’s face, but leaned over him anyways.

“C’mere, you loser,” he murmured, kissing his lightly. Pete hummed into it again, happily, but said happiness was short lived. Just as Patrick was pulling away, Pete’s shitty little M&Ms fan sputtered and died. Pete’s face contorted in a blend of horror and betrayal, and he flopped back dramatically, gasping.

“ _JOE! BABY!_ ” Pete cried out, desperately. “ _WE NEED TWO TRIPLE ‘A’S, STAT!_ ”

“Okay!” Joe yelled back, from elsewhere in the house. Within a minute, he strolled into the living room, batteries in one hand and a bag of frozen peas in the other. Patrick tsk-ed as he looked Joe up and down; his chest tattoo was on full display, as his shirt was half tucked into his back pocket.

“Come on, not you too,” Patrick said with a huff. Joe just made a face at him, handing Pete the batteries, who gave him a thank you peck on the lips and immediately set to trying to open the battery slot with his thumbnail instead of a screwdriver.

“Oh relax, Rick, it's fuckin’ hot. If you took your shirt off, I'm sure you'd feel better.”

“I've already explained this to Pete. I’m too pale for that. I'm saving the drivers who happen to pass by our house that we just had to purchase, even though it has ridiculously large front windows.” Patrick repeated. Joe stared at him for a moment, then shrugged, sinking down to lay on the floor.

“Alright, whatever.” He said, setting the bag of frozen peas over his eyes. “But just so you know, I'm pale as fuck too. Not as white as you, but still pale. Drivers be damned.” Joe readjusted so he was directly underneath the ceiling fan, then raised two middle fingers to the bay windows at the front of their living room, making Pete giggle. Sinking back into the cushions once more, Patrick nudged Joe's head as affectionately as he could with his foot, silently relaying that he wasn't actually mad.

The three boyfriends sat in sticky-yet-comfortable silence for a long moment. Eventually, Patrick pulled out his phone, playing the first Prince song he could find on shuffle. Just as _1999_ switched off into _Golden Years_ by Bowie, the front door flew open. Standing there in all his 5’6” of tattooed glory was Andy, strong arms weighted down with grocery bags.

“Our saviour!” Pete cried. Joe let out an accompanying whoop, but Patrick's mouth fell slack in offense.

Andy didn't have a fucking shirt on.

“Oh, come _on_!” Patrick grumbled, rolling his eyes. Andy looked over the tops of his sunglasses, dumbfounded.

“What?”

“Don't mind him,” Joe cut in quickly, “He’s just being pouty. The heat’s getting to him, right Pete?”

“Yeah, totally!” Pete replied, hopping up off the couch to shove Andy away from the door. “Which is all the more reason to get into these fuckin’ popsicles. To the kitchen, hon!”

“Alright, whatever.” Andy conceded, shrugging. Kicking off his sandals at the door, he slipped off into the next room, Joe and Pete on his heels, watering at the mouths.

Patrick returned his sulky stare to the ceiling fan as it spun on, endless and useless. He felt sweat rolling achingly slow down the dip of his back, tracing the trails of the other drops before it. Squirming, he felt his shirt stick to his damp back, and he shuddered at it; fucking disgusting.

“Patrick?” Andy called, peeking around the door jamb, “Do you want a Creamsicle, Fudgesicle. or a regular popsicle?”

“Orange regular, please.” Patrick replied, voice low. Andy nodded, disappearing again. Within a moment, he came back out to the living room, popsicles in hand.

“Pete and Joe are fighting over the Fudgesicles.” Andy chuckled, dropping down beside Patrick with a light bounce. He set Patrick's popsicle on his lap, snuggling into his side. His nose scrunched up as he did so, and Andy peered up at Patrick, questioning. “Your shirt is, like, drenched. You should take it off.” Patrick sighed, heavily.

“That's what the others were saying, too,” Patrick said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “But I'm pale and don't wanna cause any road deaths today.” Andy only shrugged again, curling further into him. Lapsing into silence, Patrick tore into his popsicle, tossing the wrapper carelessly on the coffee table. Relishing in the cool treat in his mouth, his eyes slipped closed, one arm thrown lazily around Andy’s shoulders.

Pete and Joe had wandered back into the living room as he had been speaking, returning to their respective places around their other boyfriends. Kneeling on the floor, Joe grabbed his frozen peas and put them over his eyes again, sliding backwards on the floor until his shoulders hit Patrick's legs. Taking a long, lazy lick along his fudgesicle, he hummed, earning the others’ attention.

“We—“ He paused, licking the popsicle again, “have curtains, Rick.”

Patrick’s eyes snapped open.

A beat passed, where none of them moved. Then, lightning fast, Patrick shoved his Popsicles into a surprised Andy’s hand, launching himself across the room to the windows. In one fluid motion, Patrick pulled his shirt off with one hand and drew the curtains with the other. Pete whistled as soon as Patrick's skin was revealed, and the singer flipped him off over his shoulder. Dramatically, Patrick flung his shirt across the room, groaning with relief as cool-ish air washed over him.

“ _Oooohohoh my god,_ ” Patrick chuckled lowly, a grin spreading across his face. Serenely, he took his place back between Pete and Andy, graciously accepting his popsicle back. Pete’s free arm curled around him instantly.

“You're not even that pale, babe,” Pete murmured, chocolate smearing across his lips as he held his fudgesicle too close to them. Patrick laughed, prying Pete's arm off of him (only to have it return to where it was two seconds later).

“Fuck off. If you can't beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

///////

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr and instagram @angelofthedamnlord and talk to me about FOB I already stan Heaven's Gate, Real Ones and Expensive Mistakes and they aren't even out yet


End file.
